


Survival is a Gift to the Pitied

by LizzyBeff



Series: The Mark of a Warrior [2]
Category: markiplier - Fandom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-06-09 16:36:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6914893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizzyBeff/pseuds/LizzyBeff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The mysterious island has yet to be found. With new struggles, will Mark be able to survive until his rescue?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Search for the Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The news covers the story of the disappearing plane.

"Welcome to Investigation News at 5. I'm your host, Jen the Pen, and tonight we have a special story lined up. Today we talk about the missing plane that strangely disappeared over the Atlantic Ocean. Here with me I have the famous homicide detective, Demetra Alvina, known more commonly Demetrius. She's been known for solving numerous homocide cases involving peculiar circumstances and for writing books such as "Murder in the City". My crew and I are here to interview her. Welcome to the show, Demetrius."

"Thanks, Jen. It's a pleasure to be here." 

"Thank you for coming on the show. In your job field, you help investigate murders. Because you've worked so long, you know how to use logic to your advantage. Tell me, what do you think happened to Flight 518?"

"Well, there's many different options to take into consideration. As a homicide detective, I can't jump to conclusions for fear of cluttering the investigation with untrue speculation. We know that the plane is missing. This is the only thing we know for sure. My personal squad and I cannot simply point fingers and determine the cause. There are some theories that we have, however." 

"What are those theories?"

"One is that the pilot and copilot lost control of the plane. This could be due to weather, malfunctions in the technology, or simply human error. Another speculation is threatening foreign countries. All though it's true that the plane disappeared over the Atlantic, we don't know if it was the military of a country who shot the plane down. Recently, there has been turmoil about the airspace of the oceans. Nations have been bickering about the subject, and one of them might have tried to assert their dominance to claim the free space. A third theory, dare I say it, is a terrorist attack. We know that no distress signals were found to be picked up from air traffic controllers. It may have been that a hijacker overpowered the pilots and seized control of the plane. The last unlikely theory is that the plane made an emergency landing somewhere where signals could not be transmitted or reached. In this case, the pilots and passengers would've likely lost their lives except for a lucky few."

"Interesting. Do you have any new evidence supporting any of these predictions?" 

"No. That's why now, here and live, I'm announcing that the Wolfpack squad and I are officially joining the hunt for Flight 518. This tragedy shall not go unnoticed, and I will use the best of my abilities as a leader to aid the effort."

"Wow. Thank you, Demetrius. Coming up: the missing 49 passengers and their identities. How the disappearance of one Youtube star caused spontaneous worldwide memorial services and grieving. That's up next on Investigation News Five."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SHOUTOUT TO MY GIRLS DEMETRA (who've I've addicted to this story) AND JENNA!  
> Also, thanks for reading!


	2. Torture in Exile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get intense when there is a food shortage.

Mark woke up to the burning pain of his knee. "Damn it! When is it going to heal?" Mark shouted groggily. He sat up and grabbed the roll of gauze sitting next to him. As he took off the bandages, Joe came in.

"Move," he sternly commanded Mark. "I need to get to my water bottle."

Mark and Joe had been on the island for twenty-seven days now. The time had been straining their emotions and hopes. They were utterly, irreversibly, and undoubtedly alone. Tensions were high as the days ticked by. They had both been sick, hungry, and cold.

"Asshole," Mark muttered under his breath. He rolled onto his side to try to relax. 

"This asshole will consume all the food if you don't come outside and eat. Now come out and chow or stay in and starve. Your choice." Joe had become very serious over the past few days. His sense of humor and well-mannered behavior had run out. Surviving with someone else had become a chore unlike the previous joy it was in the past weeks. Joe was at the end of his psychological rope.

Mark slipped out of the tent. His leg burned and ached to the point where it was difficult to walk three feet without struggling. It became swollen and even more infected as the hours went by. He sat on the log that was close to the fire pit as he looked at his environment.

It was a gray day. Clouds covered the sun and thunder was on the horizon. Small breezes whipped across the mens' scraggly ungroomed faces as tiny drops of liquid lightly kissed them. The waves crashed loudly against the sand and leaves from nearby trees billowed in the winds. It was ugly to be in. The fire was living pathetically, its last crackles made their noise and drifted off into nothingness. Joe's structure had been picked apart by the elements and was ready to cave in. The supporting sticks bent down with pain as their canopy of leaves pooled water. Some branches had been eaten up by beetles and were hollow. They were thin shells of wood that would break with the slightest tap. The sturdy soil that they once stood on had become sickenly thick mud from rainy days prior. It was torture in exile. 

"Here," droned Joe quietly as he handed Mark a small piece of meat. "Unfortunately, it's the last we have. I've been up all night scouring the land for edible plants and wild fruits and vegetables. I also checked the fish traps I set out a week ago. There's nothing." His face bent with anger and stress. There were bags under his glazed eyes and he coughed as he ate his share of food. He shot a dirty look over at Mark. "You could be helping, you know."

"My leg is all fucked up," growled Mark. "I would if I could, but I sincerely can't. I even had trouble getting to the log this morning. I'm sorry I can't do more." He looked at his huge swollen knee. "It's getting worse, you know. I don't know what to do for it. We only have one day of gauze left." 

Joe glared at Mark. The look was sharp enough to cut through a mountain in one fell swoop. "And whose fault is that? Eat your damn food." He tiredly poked at the fire with a stick. He scowled at Mark. "I'm going to set another trap in the forest." He motioned toward the food. "That better be gone by time I get back." He shuffled off into the thick foliage and trees.

Mark sniffed at the chunk of veal in his hand. It smelled terribly rancid. They'd been surviving off of this meat for weeks, and now it was finally the time to finish it off. There was no way of knowing how Joe kept the meat since Mark had been imprisoned by his wound. It was a game of sit and wonder what he'd been missing. "I might as well eat," Mark said to himself. He took a bite. He wanted to spit it out so badly, but he knew that this was one of the only things keeping him from death. He swallowed hard and tried not to vomit. God, this was horrible. He took another foul bite. How had Joe eaten this stuff so fast? How was he sure that this could be healthy? He took a third, disgusting bite. He couldn't take it anymore. Mark spit the meat out and threw the remaining chunks onto the ground. The mud would be more happy to eat it than he would ever be.

Joe came back a few moments later. "Wow," he jeered. "That infection must be in your brain too considering that you don't know how to eat perfectly good food. You're being an idiot right now. Pick it up and eat it." He crossed his arms and stared at Mark. 

Mark wanted so badly to tell Joe how he felt. He continued sitting on the log and calmly spoke. "Joe, you haven't been the same over the past couple days. You used to joke and laugh and carry good conversations with me. What happened?"

"Life." Joe turned away from Mark. He was strangely aloof. 

"Just tell me what's wrong. Please. Is it me? Am I putting too much of a burden on our survival with my leg?"

"No," breathed Joe quietly. "It's just... food." 

"I'm sorry. Here," Mark said as he picked up the meat off of the ground. He extended his hand toward Joe. "You can have it. It really wasn't like any veal I've ever tasted, but I didn't want to insult your hard work. Please, buddy? Take it?"

Joe still had his back toward Mark. He was muttering a few words quietly. 

"Joe? Are you okay?"

Joe's mutters got more and more audible by the second until they reached deafening screams.

"It's just food! It's just food! He's just food! It's okay! You have to live. Survival of the fittest, remember? That's all life is." Joe let out a terrifying laugh. "That's right. That's okay. Survival of the fittest! Natural selection! It's what keeps the food chain moving!"

"Joe...?"

Joe turned around. He stood silently with his head down for a second. Mark looked at his hand to see a sharpened axe-like tool being gripped firmly. On the edge of the blade, there was a dark orangey coloration. 

"Joe..."

Joe finally looked up with his bloodshot eyes. Streaming tears rolled down his dirty cheeks. His face seemed sad but excited all at the same time. 

"Hey, Mark..." 

"Yes?" Mark trembled in fear.

"I'm really sorry about this."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GET REAADY IT'S GOIN DOWN FOR REAL!!! Also thanks for reading!


	3. From Predator to Prey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chase begins.

Joe took short slow steps toward Mark. He had on a twisted grin. "Your hunch was right."

"What?" Mark gasped as he painfully tried to stand.

"You can't get veal from a deer! So it would taste like venison, wouldn't it? 'Not like any veal I've tasted'? Yet did it taste like venison either?"

Mark's head swam in confusion. What was happening to him? To his friendly relationship with the man standing before him? What was he implying?

Joe smiled even wider and stopped moving forward. "There's a little thing called life, Mark. You play your chips correctly and you come out victorious. That's how it works. Some of us gamblers, well, we're afraid to see what happens after the cards are folded."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Mark exclaimed with panic in his voice. He tried to slowly walk backward. 

"Those cards of the players who lose the game are thrown carelessly back into the deck. I think one should use those cards to their advantage."

"What the fuck is going on?"

"So say, I don't know, a plane crashes. Let's also say that the plane lands on an island with no food except for tiny, useless morsels. People need food to survive..."

"Where are you going with this Joe?" Mark limped as fast as he could around the log. He was terrified.

"Stay, friend. I need you to survive!" Joe let out a giggle. He walked towards Mark who had hobbled his way behind the structure. "Now... That leg of yours may pose some threats. I'll just have to cut it off."

Mark tried running. His knee sweltered and burned. He had to escape somehow, someway. He managed to get a good distance from the site. When he looked back, he couldn't see Joe anywhere. 

"Mark! Come out! Don't you want to have some fun?" Joe projected his voice so that it seemed to be all around Mark. Ruffles in the grasses and plants behind him brought him to a standstill. How had Joe caught up so fast? He decided to do the one thing that might save him: duck and hide.

"Come out, buddy! It's nothing personal! Just survival of the fittest! Don't you want to help me live?" Joe's shouts felt like they were right behind his back. Why was he doing this? Did he really intend to eat Mark's corpse for survival? It was a sick but very real possibility. There were more rustles behind Mark.

In agony and pain, Mark crouched down the quietest he could. Screams and moans barely stayed within his clenched teeth as he flattened out along the wet dirt with the plants. He pulled a few dead leaves over himself for camouflage. It wasn't the best disguise, but the psychopath chasing him might miss it if luck sided with him. His leg burned with the pain of thousands of bacteria that were razor blades on his knee. He tried not to cry so hard, but tears and gasps for air just had to be let out.

The rustling was approaching Mark. He closed his eyes in desperation and fear. This was the moment of truth, the moment that would determine whether he would live or die. Right next to his head he felt the mud shift downward. 

Joe was right next to him.

"Ah... And what may we have here?" Joe bent down and picked the leaves off of Mark. "You really didn't need to hide, you know. I thought we were friends! Friends stick by each other."  
He looked very intimidating. His long hair was tangled with small leaves and sticks. His face was covered in mud and ash. His eyes were crazy. He brandished the axe in his left hand. "Please stand up. It'll make it easier, less painful."

Mark sat up with his palms squishing into the mud. He crawled backwards while Joe stepped toward him. "Please, Joe! Don't do this man! I know you like to dick around with people and mess with them, but if this is a joke, it needs to stop! Please!" Mark was begging. This was the last thing he could do before his luck ran out. He was at the hands of his tormentor, and there was no other feelings but helplessness.

Thunder rolled closely. The winds picked up and shook the trees while the skies got darker an darker. He heard a strange cracking sound as Joe got nearer to him. "Get up," he demanded in a yell. A huge tree had fallen just behind him.

"You know I can't Joe! Please Joe!"  
Mark watched as a newer, exhausted smile gripped Joes face. He closed his eyes in anticipation as Joe reached down towards him. 

"Fine," he exclaimed as Mark felt the collar of his shirt being pulled up. Suddenly with an explosion of pain, he was in front of Joe's face. He was so close that he could smell the breath of the beastly man. "Have it your way!" He punched Mark square in the face with the dull part of the stone he'd tied on top of the branch to make his weapon. 

Mark was thrown onto the ground with another quip of pain. His head was slammed onto a rock as his ears rung. In front of him, the fuzzy shape of Joe came flying towards him. He could barely hear him in the dazed state he had found himself in. His body gave up as he felt the wetness of something on his face. Was it rain? Blood? Joe's spit?

He looked up as Joe leaned down in front of him. The world grew silent and clear for that single moment.  
"Survival of the fittest. Remember that."

Mark saw his leg swing back. Soon there was a hard painful pressure right above his right temple, and the world faded to darkness around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	4. The Red Painted Trees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark realises that he's in a horrid situation as Joe begins his master plan for survival.

Mark awoke to the booming of thunder in his ears and rain pelting his face. He felt a tremendous strain on his wrists and arms as he opened his eyes. Looking down, he noticed that he was about six feet off of the ground with a trough made out of wood below him. It was covered in blood and even had what looked like bits of blackened skin on it. As he looked over at his wrists, he saw shackles made of braided vines holding his arms up. Mark was suspended from a tree, trapped by his crafty nemesis and all of his deranged thoughts. Where was Joe at? Was he close? Was he watching from afar? Did he see Mark struggling in pain?

The rain became bullets on his face. Maybe if he could use it to his advantage, he could slip out of his entrapment. Quickly, Mark began trying to move his wrists up and down. It was of no use, for he was too weak to move his arms. Another idea struck his mind. Could he bite through the vines to free himself? He swung his neck over and looked up. If only he had a giraffe's neck. Then he could do it. He cringed as the boom of thunder shook the world around him. His energy was slipping away fast. He knew that he was on a sinking ship in the middle of the rough seas of life. His last emotions would be the the painful truth of utter helplessness and the sad moaning of grief within him. His head sunk to his shoulder as he closed his eyes and let everything fade to grey until it finally faded into a cold, heartless black.

"Mother fucker!" Joe exclaimed as he approached a dying Mark. "Wake up! Nothing good comes from the dead!" Mark's eyes opened just enough to see the blurry silhouette below of his captor, his killer. He was holding his weaponry in his right hand. "There is nothing without the beating of a heart..." Joe mumbled and his voice trailed off. He whispered a few things to himself as Mark gently closed his eyes again. Maybe some relaxation could finally aid him in his descent into the afterlife. He felt his soul slowly emerging out of the shell that his body had become. 

Suddenly, a huge blast of pain sent Mark tumbling back into his earthly vessel. He screamed so painfully, so loudly. His eyes shot open to see Joe's axe lodged shallowly into the area above his right knee. He was standing on a sturdy block of wood that boosted him up about three feet.

"Damn... it..." Joe said as he started to swing the axe back. "I'm... sorry." 

With a fit of fury and rage, Joe screamed and rapidly butchered Mark's leg swing by swing. "Why did you have to make this so hard?" Swing. Chop. Squirt. It was a brutal cycle of pain. "Why can't you just die already?!" Soon the ground, trees, and Joe were painted red. The rain did its best to clean the mess, but it was clearly impossible.

Mark looked on into the distance, waiting for sweet relief. It never came. 

Joe pulled back his axe and cried. "How can you DO THIS TO ME?!?" He became more livid every second that passed. The storm seemed to do the same. Trees shook and cracked. Winds whipped and whirled. Bushes rustled restlessly. 

Then something leaped out of the bushes toward Joe, knocking him off of his footstool. It was all a blur to Mark's tired eyes.

But then, almost magically, he could see again. His pain went away all except for throbbing in his leg. He looked down to see a mysterious young woman finish wrapping it in a strange green bandage. She was quite tall, as she was able to reach Mark's leg with both feet flat on the ground. 

She stared at him worriedly. Mark gazed upon her face. She had magnificent green eyes that sparkled like emeralds and a light mocha complexion that seemed impossibly beautiful through the storm. Her white bangs hung like cobwebs over her eyes as she moved her head to look towards the commotion unfolding in front of them. 

One question remained in Mark's brutally conscious mind: Why was he still alive?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading my fanfic!!


End file.
